Tuesday, 27 March, 1870

     For several long moments, shock rooted me to the spot where I stood.  I found it difficult even to think coherently, but finally my chaotic thoughts began to slowly resolve themselves into something resembling reason.

     So much made sense now.  The mysterious force that had drawn me here, the uncanny familiarity of my surroundings, the pervasive feeling that the instincts of the “unknown” builder had so closely mirrored my own.

    It wasn’t so much the realization that I had built this house and outbuildings—as I’d told Michaela, I had experience with carpentry, which I’d put to use from time to time in the past to earn extra money.  And of course, I’d built the homestead for Abagail and myself, where Michaela and the children now resided.

    The question was *why* I’d built this house.  Who had I built it for?  Who was going to live here?  I could make the argument that someone—whose identity I couldn’t remember—had contracted with me to build them a homestead.  But the assumption that I’d merely performed a service for some unknown individual, didn’t explain the talisman belonging to Cloud Dancing and Snowbird, which I’d found hanging from the mantle of the fireplace downstairs.  Or the bedstead standing before me, with its symbolic carving of feathers.  I couldn’t imagine any of the townspeople requesting that I make them a bed adorned in that manner, or even understanding its significance.  And I could come up with no rationale to explain the presence of a charm so special, and sacred, to my blood brother and his late wife.

    Had Cloud Dancing made a gift to me of the talisman that had hung over the door of his lodge for so many years?  It was possible, I supposed.  Perhaps the charm had been too painful a reminder of Snowbird, so he had chosen to give it to me, knowing that I would cherish it and treat it with the reverence it deserved.  But then why had I left it here?  The charm had a special meaning—it was designed to bless and protect the dwelling of its owner.  If Cloud Dancing had given it into my keeping, then logically I would have placed it over the entrance to my own lodge—even if that “lodge” was nothing more than a lean-to out in the woods.

    I couldn’t see myself so cavalierly leaving it behind in this place.  It just didn’t make sense.  Unless—

    Was it possible—could I have built this homestead for myself?  No, surely not.  I didn’t need a large, fancy house to live in.  Maybe once I could have settled in such a place, before I’d gone to live with the Cheyenne—but no more.  My time with them had taught me to love living in the outdoors, craving the freedom of a home without walls, and with the glorious expanse of the sky as my roof.  I couldn’t accept that I might have willingly built and chosen to live within such a structure—regardless of how spacious and airy it was.

    Besides, it was too big.  What could I possibly need with four bedrooms, or a barn large enough to shelter a cow, and stable at least three or four horses?

    And there was something else.  The bedstead before me was large, easily wide enough for two people to sleep in.  Two people who were—

    Sweat broke out on my forehead.  A bed big enough for two, a house large enough for an entire family—perhaps a family with three children . . .

    The implication of my thoughts staggered me yet again.  So much so that the faint ring of hoof beats approaching up the drive didn’t immediately register in my ears or on my consciousness.  But a moment later, the sound of a horse’s whinny broke in on my thoughts and drew me to the window.  I unfastened the latch and opened the casement doors, leaning out to get a glimpse of the rider—and received yet another shock as I saw the visitor’s identity.

    A few seconds elapsed, then I heard the front door open below me, and the echo of boot heels moving across the floorboards.

    Quietly I left the bedroom and moved down the hall to the stairway.  Noiselessly I eased down the steps, then watched as the visitor, back to me, took Cloud Dancing’s talisman down from the mantle.  The faint sound of quiet weeping reached my ears.

    I left the stairs, and took a couple of steps into the room.  The squeak of a floorboard betrayed my presence, and the visitor whirled around.

    “Hello, Michaela,” I said.

* * * * * * * * * *
 

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

     Michaela finished tying Sully’s fresh bandage and stepped back.  “There—done,” she said.   “Are you in any pain?” she added.  “Do you need some laudanum?”

     “No, I’m fine,” he replied, watching as she gathered up her instruments and turned away to replace them in her medical bag.  “Actually,” he added a little hesitantly, while her back was still turned, “I was kinda wonderin’ if we could talk a little.  There are some things I’d like to ask you about—if you got the time, that is,” he added.

     Michaela closed her eyes momentarily, her heart accelerating.  So it had started already.  Sully was curious, expecting answers to his questions.  She prayed briefly that she would be able to handle whatever challenge he threw her way.  She took a breath to compose herself, then faced him.

     “Yes, I have the time,” she said kindly.  She drew a chair over to his bedside, then seated herself, folding her hands in her lap and meeting his eyes.  “What would you like to know?”

     He returned her gaze.  “Well first, did everythin’ go all right with that person who came to see you?”  Michaela sighed inwardly.  She should have realized he wouldn’t have forgotten their earlier exchange, given his sensitivity and protective instincts.

     “Sully, as I told you before, there’s no need for you to trouble yourself.  The fault is mine.  I shouldn’t have said anything to you about this person.  I wouldn’t have, if I’d known it would cause you concern.  At any rate, he’s gone now.”

     “I’m glad to hear it,” Sully said firmly.  “And maybe I overreacted,” he allowed after a moment. “I realize I don’t know nothin’ about what’s goin’ on.  I guess it’s just that I don’t cotton to people botherin’ beau—“  He broke off and cleared his throat.  “Botherin’ women,” he finished awkwardly.

     Michaela pretended not to notice what he’d nearly said.  “Well, as you can see, I’m just fine,” she assured him.  “And I’d far rather talk about something other than annoying visitors.”  She regarded him encouragingly.  “What else would you like to ask me?”

     He was briefly silent, as if trying to select one question from the undoubtedly numerous ones that were crowding his mind.  After a moment he responded, “Well, I been wonderin’ how you ended up here in Charlotte’s boardin’ house.  Did she sell it to you?”

     A shadow crossed her face, a look of sympathy touching her eyes.  He noticed the change in her expression.

     “What?” he asked.

     “No, Charlotte didn’t sell the boardinghouse to me,” Michaela began gently.  “I—I’m afraid Charlotte is gone, Sully.  She was bitten by a rattlesnake a few months after I came here.  I tried to save her, but . . .  I’m so sorry, Sully.  I know she was a good friend of yours.”

     Gone?” he repeated softly, his eyes grieved.

     Michaela nodded, and after a fraction’s hesitation, she reached out to cover his hand with her own.  “I share your sorrow,” she said compassionately.  “Charlotte was a good friend to me as well—the first real friend I ever had.  I don’t know what I would have done if she hadn’t taken me under her wing when I arrived.  All the people in town were so resistant to the idea of a woman doctor, and I was so ‘green’ . . . I came from a rather privileged background in Boston, and had only the vaguest notions of how to survive on my own—managing a household, milking a cow, riding a horse . . .  Even cooking a simple meal was a challenge.  Charlotte taught me so much—I’ll forever be indebted to her, and will always cherish her memory.”

     “That’s the kind of woman Charlotte was,” Sully agreed quietly.  “But what about her kids?” he added abruptly.  “What happened to them?”

     “That was Charlotte’s greatest gift to me,” Michaela said reverently.  “On her deathbed, she asked me to look after her children.  Initially, I thought she’d made a grave mistake, entrusting them to my care.  I had no experience at child-rearing.  Even in my own family, I was the youngest of five girls, so I’d never had to look out for younger siblings.  But Charlotte was quite definite about what she wanted, and later I came to thank her from the bottom of my heart for bringing us together.  Matthew, Colleen and Brian have proven to be the joy of my life.”

     “So you’re their ma, now?”

     “Yes,” she confirmed, her eyes full of quiet pride.  “I love them dearly.  And I’m proud and grateful to say that they love me as well.  It didn’t happen overnight, but eventually we grew close and became a family.”

     “Do you all live here?” Sully asked, after he’d spent a few moments assimilating what she’d told him.

     Michaela felt a pang of apprehension.  She wondered how he’d react to the news that they were occupying the homestead he’d shared with Abagail.  However she reminded herself that he had willingly let the homestead to her, despite the fact that at the time he didn’t yet know her, or have any reason to trust her.

     “Actually, we live outside of town,” she said slowly.  “A day or two after I arrived, I was in search of a place where I could live and maintain my practice.  You—you saw the notice I put up in the general store, and you offered to rent your old homestead to me.  It’s been our home ever since.”

     There was a silence, and Michaela’s apprehension increased.  Maybe she should have deflected his question after all.  Perhaps he wasn’t yet ready to hear that particular truth.  “Does that bother you—that I’m living in the home you—shared with your late wife?” she asked hesitantly.  Her eyes were anxious.

     “No,” he admitted after a pause.  “Wasn’t doin’ nobody any good, just sittin’ there goin’ to ruin.  I wasn’t about to live in it again.  I’m glad that somebody’s gettin’ some use out of it.”

     Michaela let out her breath.  “I’m relieved you feel that way,” she said.  “I wouldn’t want to upset you.”

     “You didn’t upset me,” he told her.  “I was a little surprised, but like I said, it makes sense.  And I musta wanted you to take it—else I never woulda offered.”  There was another small silence, and then he added, “So how’d  you wind up turnin’ the boardin’ house into a clinic?”

     Relieved that Sully’s next question had directed the conversation away from personal matters to a more general topic, Michaela embarked on a brief explanation of how the occurrence of an influenza epidemic in town had necessitated that she find a place which she could convert into a temporary hospital.  She related how the reverend had offered her the use of the church, but that she’d had to reject that building as unsuitable, because it didn’t allow for her to isolate patients at differing stages of the illness, thereby minimizing contagion.

     “It quickly became obvious that only Charlotte’s boardinghouse had enough space, and enough rooms, to meet the need,” she said.  “Unfortunately, when Charlotte died, she left behind many unpaid bills, which resulted in the bank foreclosing on the mortgage.  The building was boarded up and standing unused, awaiting a buyer.

     “I had no choice but to open the boardinghouse, despite the fact that I had no legal right to it.  Several people in town tried to prevent me from using it, but you—stood with me.  You pulled down the boards nailed to the door so that I could gain access, and dared anyone to stop me.”  She smiled briefly.  “No one tried.

     “Using the boardinghouse enabled me to save many of the sick, and also helped me to win over several people who had been resisting the idea of being treated by a woman doctor,” she went on.  “Once the epidemic had passed, we kept the building open and I continued to treat patients there. This state of affairs continued until a representative from the Bank of Denver came to town and told me that I could no longer maintain a clinic on the premises unless I bought the building myself.”

     “So you bought it,” Sully said.

     “Eventually,” she responded.  “But it wasn’t easy.  I had received a bequest upon my father’s death, but what I had left was insufficient to cover the down payment on a purchase of the property, and the bank was unwilling to grant a mortgage to an ‘unmarried’ woman.’  I confess I was somewhat at my wit’s end—but then my mother came to town.  Ultimately, she gave me the money that I needed, and the bank grudgingly gave me the mortgage.”

     “You were lucky to have your ma in your corner,” Sully remarked.  Michaela smiled wryly.

     “I was lucky that she gave me the money,” she acknowledged.   “But I’m afraid that she was far from ‘in my corner.’  You see, my mother never supported my becoming a doctor.  Essentially, she was no different from most of the people here in town who were against women physicians, or those in Boston who abandoned me after I took over my father’s practice upon his death.  She felt that medicine was a highly inappropriate occupation for a woman.  She’d always wanted me to emulate my sisters, by marrying well and becoming a society matron.  And needless to say, she was appalled when I chose to come west and establish a new practice, after I lost my father’s patients and the doors of Boston’s hospitals were closed to me.”

     “So your pa was a doctor too?” Sully said.

     “Yes—one of Boston’s finest and most respected physicians,” Michaela replied, her eyes softening as she remembered the father she’d adored.  “From the time I was a small child, I wanted to follow in his footsteps, and he encouraged me every step of the way.  He taught me, discussed his cases with me, allowed me to accompany him on his rounds—and when I received my degree from the Women’s Medical College of Pennsylvania, he took me into his practice as his partner.  He was my mentor, my advocate—my best friend.  It was because of his patronage and intercession that his patients allowed me to treat them.  But once he was gone . . .”  Her voice drifted off.

     “That musta been hard for you—losin’ him and your practice, all at once,” Sully said, his eyes compassionate, and his voice gentle.

     “Yes, it was very painful,” she admitted.  “But I knew that he would want me to go on.  He had always fought for me.  And I determined that the best way for me to honor his memory would be to fight for myself and fulfill my destiny.  I *would* be a doctor—somewhere.  So when I saw a notice in the Boston Globe petitioning for a doctor in a town on the Colorado frontier, it seemed as if it was meant to be.  Ignoring my mother’s protests, I answered the advertisement, and—well, here I am.”  She smiled.

     “For a society lady from Boston, you got a lot of grit, Dr. Mike,” Sully remarked.

     Michaela blushed slightly.  “That’s quite generous, Sully.  But if I do, it’s because my father instilled that quality in me,” she said quietly.

     But Sully was shaking his head.  “No—I don’t think so,” he answered matter-of-factly..  “Your pa sounds like he was a real special man, and I’m sure he inspired you.  But you’re your own person.  What you done since he’s been gone, you done on your own.  And though I didn’t know him, I’m bettin’ he’d be the first to say so.”

     Moved, Michaela felt tears blossom at the corners of her eyes.  She brushed at them with the back of her hand, and then said impulsively, “You remind me of him, in many ways.  Your kindness, and integrity—the way you care for others and help those in need, or fight for the rights of those who can’t fight for themselves—“  She broke off suddenly, overcome with alarm that perhaps she’d been too outspoken, or betrayed too much of her inner feelings.  Not trusting her eyes, she rose and walked a few steps away, her face averted from him.  “I’m sorry,” she apologized after a moment.  “I’m afraid that talking of my father has made me rather—sentimental.”

     “There’s no need,” Sully told her.  His words caused her to look back at him.  Though his eyes reflected his surprise at her unexpected praise of him, she could see that he was deeply flattered as well.  “It’s only natural that you miss your pa.  Fact is, I’m honored that I remind you of him, seein’ as how you hold him in such high esteem.  I’m sure I ain’t near the man he was, but—it’s nice to hear that you think we’re cut from the same cloth.”

     Michaela was feeling more emotional by the second, and she knew that she dare not let this conversation continue, for fear that she would break down completely.  Remembering her father had made her vulnerable, and Sully’s innocent tenderness as he sought to support and comfort her had been her undoing.  Every fiber of her being cried out in need for him.  Her body actually ached for the feel of his arms around her, his lips on hers.  Grief inwardly assailed her, as she wondered how long she would be forced to endure the agony of hiding her love and her desire for him.  And on the heels of her impotent longing was fear—that she wouldn’t be strong enough to resist temptation.

     With all the strength of will she could summon, Michaela pushed the pain back down inside.  Just let me escape this room without losing control in front of Sully, she prayed.  Once I’m by myself,
then . . .

     “I appreciate your kindness,” she said aloud, somehow managing to keep her voice steady.  “And for my part, I hope I’ve helped to assuage your curiosity—a little, at least.  But—“  She cleared her throat.  “You’re looking tired, Sully.  Despite the fact that you’re recovering so well, you still need a great deal of rest.  We can continue our discussion at some later time.”

     Startled, Sully’s face wore a look of disappointment.  But then, possibly assuming that her reminiscences about her father were responsible for her melancholy, his eyes took on an expression of compassion.

     “I guess I *am* tired, at that,” he said, watching her carefully.  “I ‘spose a nap would be a good idea.”  He hesitated, then added,  “I want to thank you for spendin’ this time with me, Dr. Mike.  I’m obliged.”

     “And I’m—‘obliged’ to you,” Michaela said softly.  She moved to the door.  “I’ll see you later,” she promised.  “Sleep well, Sully.”

     He watched her leave, then leaned back against his pillows.  He didn’t know how well he would sleep, but he thought he knew who might appear in his dreams.